


Try Your Best (Think About It Later)

by out_there



Category: Torchwood
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-14
Updated: 2008-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:54:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/out_there/pseuds/out_there
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"The alien inside Jones," the scientist says, referring to the kid by name, "somehow sucks the energy out of people through orgasm. So far, it's been fatal three times. How did you survive?"</i>
<br/><i>"I'm not easy to kill," Jack says.</i></p><p>Note: I haven't marked this as non-con but it's as dubious as any aliens-made-them-do-it scenario.  Please bear that in mind.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Try Your Best (Think About It Later)

**Author's Note:**

> An AU based around the sex alien of TW 1.02, "Day One". Thanks to [](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/profile)[**oxoniensis**](http://oxoniensis.livejournal.com/) for the fantastic and insightful beta. Thanks to [](http://in-the-bottle.livejournal.com/profile)[**in_the_bottle**](http://in-the-bottle.livejournal.com/) for listening to my whining. Title comes from the Kaiser Chief's "Try Your Best (And Think About It Later)" because I'm a sucker for a title with parenthesis.

Jack talks his way in, flashes ID and charms the guard, then sneaks down the corridor. He knows which cell he's looking for, and it takes the alien gadget in his left pocket all of sixty seconds to break through the high security lock.

The door slides shut behind him with a whoosh that hints at an air-tight seal. Jack realises why as he breathes in, pheromones so strong he can almost taste them.

He blinks, and notices the figure crouched on the floor, dressed in white, dark hair and bright eyes vibrantly alive against the colourless scrubs. The boy gets to his feet, strides over to Jack. Jack's world falls into snatches of sensation.

Warm, lean body pressed against his.

The smell of skin, musky and sweet.

The taste of salt beneath his tongue.

A low, rough voice saying, "I'm sorry," in a Welsh lilt.

Hands on Jack's trousers, pulling urgently until there's cool air and hot fingers around his cock.

The kid falling to his knees, stretching red lips around Jack's cock and sucking noisily, until Jack loses himself in heat and suction and pressure. Soft hair under his palms as his hips buck and he comes so hard his heart slams in his chest.

Leaning back against the wall for support with hard, cold concrete under his hands. Gasping for breath and watching the kid still on his knees, eyes closed, as unmoving as the frozen waves on Woman Wept.

There's a tapping on the door and a red-bereted UNIT officer yelling for Captain Harkness, but Jack's still watching the kid. He sees the dark lashes spring open, sees the wide-eyed shock on the handsome face as he asks, "How are you still alive?"

Then guards in hazmat suits storm in, waving guns, and the kid scrambles back to his corner, sits against the wall, hugging his knees. Jack lets himself be escorted out, but takes a second glance as he leaves.

***

They demand to know how he knew about the kid, so Jack smiles and says, "A little birdie told me." He doesn't mention that his little birdie happens to be Japanese and obscenely talented with computers, that she likes to break through UNIT's defences for a challenge and scans for mentions of Torchwood out of curiosity.

Then he adds, "You're keeping a Torchwood employee imprisoned. Technically, that's our business."

"He wasn't working for Torchwood at the time, making him a citizen," the General replies snidely. "This has nothing to do with you."

But one of the scientists -- white coat, nametag says Dr Whitten -- asks eagerly, "How did you survive?"

Jack blinks. "As far as I knew, oral sex has never been fatal."

"The alien inside Jones," the scientist says, referring to the kid by name, "somehow sucks the energy out of people through orgasm. So far, it's been fatal three times. How did you survive?"

"I'm not easy to kill," Jack says and the General gives him a knowing nod. Sometimes Jack forgets UNIT knows so much about him. "The alien feeds on the energy?"

"Apparently. It's pumping out pheromones to make him irresistible, regardless of sexual orientation. It's intriguing, but deadly." Then Dr Whitten nods to himself and adds, "If you're somehow immune, you should come back. Give us time to fine-tune the injections that are currently staving off the alien's effects."

"Give you time to study the alien, you mean." Jack stares at the scientist, who only nods.

"Of course. But it will keep Jones alive as well."

Somehow, Jack agrees.

***

Days later, Jack finds himself back in that same cell, fingers digging into the wall, resisting the urge to grab the boy's head and shove his cock deeper down Jones' throat.

Jack keeps his eyes open as he comes, feels his heart being tugged against his ribs, and this time he notices the orange glow suffusing Jones' skin, just for a moment.

Afterwards, the kid seems awkward, strangely bashful given the easy way he'd dropped straight to his knees. He stands up slowly and avoids Jack's eyes.

"What's your name?" Jack asks gently, although he already knows. Just as he knows the kid works in London, used to work for Torchwood until the battle of Canary Wharf, and that while visiting friends in the Welsh countryside, he'd spotted a meteor landing. According to the notes on UNIT's servers, he'd stopped to make sure no civilians interfered before the appropriate authorities arrived. Now he's twenty-three and locked up for the simple crime of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He takes a step back, out of Jack's reach and says, "Ianto Jones, sir."

***

Back at the Hub, Jack gets Tosh to download the security feed from Jones' room. She burns it to disc and drops it on Jack's desk, but Jack has reports to finish, a cost-analysis budget to start and a call to the PM that he really can't avoid.

After that, there's a spaceship sighting that requires large quantities of retcon and then an alien artefact found in a bookshop.

***

The next time Jack visits, he brings a paperback edition of _War and Peace_. He throws it to the narrow bed as Jones stands up and stalks towards him. It lands on the grey blanket with a soft thud.

"Is this going to be a regular thing, then?" Jones asks, Welsh accent as charming as ever. "You visiting, I mean."

He has Jack pressed against the wall, hands tugging at Jack's belt. This time, he waits until he's pushed Jack's trousers down before getting a hand around Jack's cock. Jack leans his head against the cool concrete, dragging in a deep breath as cool fingers slide over his skin, stroking him lightly.

"For the moment," Jack manages. "I seem to have a certain immunity."

Then Jones drops to his knees. Jack's ability to talk -- Jack's ability to think -- is severely hampered.

After, Jack tucks himself away as Jones walks back to the bed. There's a stiffness in his gait that suggests stiffness elsewhere, but Jones ignores it. He sits on the bed and pulls the book into his lap, hiding what those white scrubs show clearly.

Jones licks his lips -- shiny and red, so recently stretched around Jack's cock -- and opens the cover page. "War and Peace?"

He could be thinking aloud or he could be making conversation: Jack's not sure which. "Thought you might want something to read. It was the longest thing I could think of."

"Thank you." Jones looks down, flicking through pages with fine fingers. He runs a fingertip along the edge of the page, grazing lightly over the thin paper, and Jack can't help watching. Can't help remembering those fingers on his skin. It's almost pornographic, but Jones seems too lost in thought to be aware of Jack's attention. "I tried reading this when I was seventeen. Seemed like the thing for pretentious literary types. I only got through the first third."

"Jones--"

"Ianto," Jones interrupts. Then the soft wistful smile fades and for a moment, he looks concerned. "If you don't mind?"

Jack shrugs and smile widely. "I didn't want to presume," he says teasingly, pretending he didn't notice the kid's wary tone.

"I'm sure first names are appropriate, given the courteous distance of our interactions so far."

"Cheeky," Jack replies and Jones' -- Ianto's -- face falls.

"I meant no disrespect, sir," Ianto says quickly, suddenly serious.

"I'm not one of those UNIT guys. I don't need you to salute me and call me sir." Then Jack adds, "Not that the image of you naked and calling me sir is a bad one, but let's keep it for special occasions."

There's a flicker of emotion across Ianto's face: shock, embarrassment, amusement and pleased surprise. It settles with a frown of concentration. "You're not part of UNIT?"

"No. Just doing them a favour. And it's my kind of favour."

Ianto looks to the side, giving Jack a moment to notice those long, dark eyelashes. "The guard called you Captain Harkness."

It's not precisely a question but Jack nods anyway. "One of the perks of doing a favour for UNIT: their guys like saluting and using full titles. Good for the ego."

The kid turns slowly, staring at him seriously. "Captain Jack Harkness? Head of Torchwood Cardiff?"

"People are usually happier when they recognise me. Okay, there's been a handful of jealous husbands and wives who haven't been pleased when they find me skinny-dipping with their spouse, but generally people are happy to meet me."

Ianto shrugs. "It doesn't make any difference," he says, voice low and hopeless.

"It doesn't make any difference, but..."

"Interagency policy." Ianto sighs, looks down at his hands. He closes the novel and holds it tightly. "Once there are staff from Torchwood and UNIT working on the same case, interagency policies apply. I'd-- I'd already suspected as much."

Pushing himself off the wall, Jack takes three steps over to the bed and crouches in front of Jones. He doesn't reach out -- he's already noticed the kid is more comfortable initiating physical contact -- but he waits until Ianto looks up and meets his eye. "What am I missing?"

"People died. I don't know if they told you, but three people died. That automatically makes this a hostile infection and first priority will be containment." One slow breath, then Ianto continues, "I was an Interagency Liaison Officer long enough to know the standard operating procedures. Contact the family, falsify a car accident and a road death. Provide a death certificate to ensure no questions are asked while the threat is... contained."

Jack thinks this over for a moment. It sounds like the type of policy Torchwood London would have in place, ready for all such emergencies. "I could relay a message," Jack offers but Ianto shakes his head.

"And say what? Your son has a message from beyond the grave? I don't think you're enough of a conman to lead a convincing séance."

Jack doesn't correct him. He just rests a hand on Ianto's and brushes his thumb over the strained knuckles gripping the book's spine.

***

Jack makes the time to sit down and watch the surveillance footage of Ianto Jones. He fast-forwards through the first hour (showing an empty room), then hits play when the door opens. Two red-capped guards walk Ianto into the room. Ianto's dressed casually -- faded jeans, grey runners, a zippered hoodie -- but more importantly, he's moving casually, following the guards with a long-suffering patience.

They leave him alone, and he sits on the bed to wait.

Half an hour later, it's a single officer that delivers a clipboard and IQ tests to Ianto. He stays while Ianto fills them out.

Jack knows the purpose of the tests is to check for new knowledge, for signs of a sentient non-human mind. He's tempted to fast-forward again, until he spots the officer shifting his weight, watching Ianto intently and edging closer. Jack turns the sound up.

The officer makes small talk about the tests, the reasoning for them, and Ianto nods, still filling out forms. Then the officer mentions that the next step will be a physical examination.

That's when Ianto looks up. His eyebrows jump, then he glances at the locked door, the officer's security pass, the officer's gun. (Jack replays the footage in slow motion to be sure.)

When Ianto agrees that it will probably involve testing his reflexes, especially the gag reflex, Jack can't help smiling. It's the type of seduction he'd attempt from a prison cell and it's surprising how often it works.

There's some smiling, a little more flirting as the officer stands in front of Ianto and pulls down his fly, and then Ianto's mouth is too full to reply.

Jack magnifies the image as much as he can with this lousy resolution and watches Ianto suck cock. There are a few obvious mistakes -- taking too much too quickly, choking until he pulls off to breathe -- but the officer tugs Ianto's head, pulling Ianto's mouth back to his flushed cock.

It looks awkward for Ianto, bad angle for his neck, but Ianto seems to be enjoying it. He keeps his eyes closed -- like he does when he's on his knees in front of Jack -- and follows the urging of those hands, bobbing his head back and forth.

Jack gives himself a quick squeeze as the officer's hips start to snap forward. Jack's burningly jealous when the officer hisses and comes, until he sees the officer glow, mass transforming into golden energy that Ianto absorbs. All that's left of him is a pile of dust on the floor.

It's shocking enough to take Jack's mind off sex, away from the appeal of Ianto's sweet lower lip.

On Jack's screen, Ianto seems shocked too. He sits on the bed, dark brows drawn, staring at the dust. He blinks occasionally, but he doesn't move. No alarm sounds, no guards rush in, so Jack assumes no-one was watching the surveillance footage as it happened. Ianto gets almost an hour to sit and stare before two guards come in.

This time, the pheromone's effect is faster. It only takes minutes for the guards to drift closer, to pull Ianto to his feet and sandwich his body between them.

There's lots of hands pulling at clothing but mostly it's just a collection of writhing bodies, twisting and arching against each other. Jack knows exactly how good that can feel.

But it ends the same way. Regardless of the cause -- Ianto's fist around a cock, or pushing down the scrubs and rubbing off against Ianto's bare skin -- they both climax, glow, and get absorbed. The only difference is that this time, Ianto steps away from the dust and sits with his back to the wall. He folds his arms, rests his chin on his wrists and stares at the remains until Gwen walks through Jack's office door and Jack hits pause.

"Hard at work?" she asks.

"Oh, yeah," Jack replies, knowing she won't get the joke. (If he stood up, she might.) "Finished the case notes?"

"Just did them." She looks at him hopefully but doesn't say any more.

"Then go home to your strapping boyfriend, Gwen Cooper. Give him a big kiss from me."

Gwen pulls a face and goes, leaving Jack free to watch how long it takes UNIT to identify the threat, clean the cell and then reduce Ianto to a specimen in plain scrubs and no legal identity.

***

Ianto doesn't kiss. When Jack tries to catch his mouth, Ianto shies away, twisting his head to the side.

Ianto isn't entirely confident about what he's doing. The next time Jack visits him, he grinds Jack up against the wall and whispers hot into his ear, "This isn't... something I've had a lot of practice at. If there's something I should be doing, or not doing, you need to tell me."

Jack's not sure if it's the damp breath against his skin, the fumbling fingers at his fly or the head-spinning flood of pheromones around him, but he's too aroused to reply. He can't wrestle words into sentences, but he can get his hands on Ianto's waist, push up the loose cotton shirt and slide a hand down the front waistband of his trousers.

Ianto's hand on his wrist is sudden and solid, pulling Jack's hand away.

"I'd rather not," he says, breathless and rocking his thigh against Jack shamelessly. "If I get a choice here, I'd rather not."

Nodding, Jack moves his hands away and presses them against the wall as Ianto starts tugging at his belt.

"I was talking about the blowjobs," Ianto says afterwards, perched on the edge of the single bed. His legs are crossed, hands looped around his knees and he's leaning forward, hiding the erection Jack knows is there. "If there was anything I could do better..."

Jack rubs his index finger against his own bottom lip but Ianto barely notices the gesture. A lesser man would be discouraged. "I could show you."

"That would be--" Ianto's eyes narrow as he registers the clear promise in Jack's tone. "I'm sure you have better things to do with your time."

"Define better."

"More likely to save the world?"

"I'm saving the world from a dangerous alien through strategic use of orgasms," Jack says smugly, confident he can talk Jones into bed. "Sounds good to me."

"Then demonstrating on me is unnecessary."

"Could be good for morale."

Ianto chuckles and Jack's sure he's won the argument until Ianto says, "I have a girlfriend. Or I did. She's probably already gone to my funeral--"

"That's a shame," Jack says, interrupting when Ianto's face starts to crumple into misery and worry. "I would have made you see stars, Ianto Jones."

"I'll have to learn to live with the regret," Ianto says with the faintest of smirks.

***

The next day four Yvrkw's tumble through the Rift. They land on scaly, well-muscled legs, reptilian mouths hissing and on their way out of the door, manage to bite Gwen and slash Tosh's forearm. The injuries themselves are minor but there's a complication: a paralytic poison under their claws that Owen can't identify enough to do anything but press them into cryogenic storage while he works on a cure.

So Jack spends the next eight hours tracking down four six-foot reptiles on his own and manages to bring the last one in alive, wrestling it to the Hub floor and holding one taloned hand out for Owen to get a sample while the other claws slice through coat, shirt and skin. Owen gets the sample and then shoots it, giving Jack the opportunity to crawl into a corner and die in peace.

Jack arrives at the UNIT outpost exhausted. Over the last two days, he's died three times and had the right side of his coat ripped to shreds. As far as Jack's concerned, it's the latter of those things that's the worst. He'll get it mended but it will be never be the same.

He walks into Ianto's room -- it's more of a cell: concrete floors and wall, no windows, the only furniture is the single bed -- staggers to the bed and collapses backwards on it as the door swishes shut behind him.

"Change of positions," Jack says, rubbing a hand against the back of his closed eyelids. His eyes feel gritty and the light in here is far too bright. "Go ahead but don't expect any audience participation."

When Jack opens his eyes to glance around, he sees Ianto standing against the wall, novel open. "You sound tired," he says.

"I'm so tired I should be dead."

Ianto laughs, a gentle but highly amused sound. "Then maybe you should go home."

"There is no way I'm getting up. I went to all the effort of driving here, the least I deserve is five minutes, just five minutes, of lying down with my eyes shut." Jack licks his lips, waiting for the boy to pounce, then he notices something. The room smells different. "The pheromone output isn't as strong."

"Whatever chemicals they're shooting into my veins seem to be working." Ianto meets his eyes with a sharp, secretive smile. "You're already on a bed. You might as well sleep here."

Taking a moment to think it over, Jack considers getting up, walking to the SUV, driving back to the Hub, getting the hatch open, climbing down to his bed and waiting for the next alarm to go off. Or he can stay right here, leave the alarms diverted to Owen's mobile, and sleep. It's an easy choice.

He crawls into the single bed and enjoys the simple pleasure of plain cotton sheets above and below him, the weight of woollen blankets on top of that. Then he closes his eyes gratefully.

**

When Jack wakes up, the first thing he asks is, "How long was I asleep?" He's probably slept more tonight than he has for the last month, but dying -- and wrestling overgrown lizards -- makes him tired.

"Forty-two pages," Ianto replies.

Jack usually has a good sense of time. His best guess is that's past two in the morning. "Come to bed and turn out the light."

"That's a single bed," Ianto says, still sitting on the hard floor, wall against his back, knees drawn up almost to his chin, "and you're taking up most of it."

"We can fit," Jack promises.

There's a hint of a smile as Ianto replies, "Only if you promise not to hog all the blankets. I don't want my toes to freeze."

"I'll stop you from getting cold feet." Jack moves across, making space, and folds back a corner of the covers.

Ianto stands, stretching awkwardly. He's clearly been sitting against the concrete for longer than comfortable, letting Jack sleep. "I can't do anything about the lights, though," he says, settling into bed with a soft sigh.

"When do they go off?"

"They don't." At Jack's questioning look, Ianto adds, "Classified as hostile, remember?"

Jack feels himself frown. "Standard technique for interrogation." He knows he's done similar things in Torchwood's name -- right now, he has a Weevil locked up in the cells, far away from any natural light sources -- but he doesn't like this. He doesn't like this being done to a Torchwood employee on general grounds. He especially doesn't like it being done to this bright eyed, dark haired, fine featured ex-employee.

"You learn to sleep through it," Ianto mutters, pulling the covers up and blinking.

"Or find a simple solution." Jack gets two hands on the sheet and tugs it free, pulling it up to the wall until it covers both of their heads. It doesn't eliminate the light but the heaviness of the blankets reduces it to twilight. "Instant darkness."

"Lucky I'm not claustrophobic."

"I'm lucky they let you bathe. Otherwise, this would be far less pleasant." To prove his point, Jack leans over and takes an exaggerated sniff at the collar of Ianto's scrubs. Ianto's breath catches loudly, encouraging Jack to stay there, breathing against bare skin.

"Is it--" Jones says, and Jack likes the way his voice drops lower. "Pheromones?"

"No. All I can smell is clean skin and soap." Then Jack reaches out with his tongue and licks up the curve of Ianto's throat. There's a sharp gasp so Jack does it again. He sucks an open-mouthed kiss to the side of Ianto's neck, using lips and teeth to explore the tense tendons, flattening his tongue against the line of muscle.

Ianto's left arm is trapped on the bed between them but his right lands on Jack's shoulder, fingers holding lightly. It's tacit approval.

Jack props himself up on an elbow and traces a wet line up to Ianto's earlobe and then around the joint of jaw. It only takes two fingers to tilt Ianto's face up, to give Jack space to investigate the dip above his Adam's apple, the soft triangle of flesh beneath his chin.

Jack takes his time. He licks and nibbles, pauses to blow cool air against damp skin, and sucks a semi-circle of reddened marks around Ianto's collar.

He sneaks a hand under Ianto's shirt, fingers stretched wide across the solid warmth of Ianto's side. Jack keeps his hand still, keeps his slow exploration confined to Ianto's neck, but he likes feeling Ianto breathe. He likes feeling Ianto twist and squirm beneath his fingers when he tastes a sensitive spot.

It means he can feel Ianto tense when Jack lifts his head to drop a bite to the edge of Ianto's chin. He can feel Ianto holding his breath as Jack presses a kiss to the dip below his bottom lip.

People think the art of seduction is all about flirtation and tempting someone into bed, but the most important thing is knowing when to stop. Jack knows how to read the difference between nervous anticipation and apprehensive worry, so he presses a kiss to the corner of Ianto's lips and then moves away.

"You really are devastatingly handsome," Jack says, kissing Ianto's cheek quickly.

Ianto watches him with wide eyes. He looks a little surprised and a lot relieved. "I've never been called devastating," he says finally.

"Maybe they were too devastated to tell you."

Jack's rewarded with a short chuff of laughter as Ianto shakes his head. "Go to sleep, you."

Jack settles on his side, facing Ianto, keeping a hands-width of space between them on the narrow mattress. He knows it's a hand-width because Ianto's right hand is lying between them. After a moment of internal debate, Jack shifts his arm forward, letting his hand fall faux-accidentally against Ianto's. Their index fingers touch, knuckle against knuckle, then Ianto reaches out and wraps his hand around Jack's.

Jack turns his hand until they're palm to palm. With a quick squeeze, he looks over at Ianto and catches his gaze in the twilit gloom.

An embarrassed smile flitters across Ianto's face, then he says firmly, "Sleep," and closes his eyes, leaving his hand in Jack's.

***

Jack wakes up in the best possible way: with a warm body pressed against him. There's an arm draped over his side, fingertips loosely curled against his stomach, soft breath moving the hair at the back of his neck. There's something about sleeping with other people. It's a simple pleasure, an easy comfort, and he's always slept better with someone else sharing the bed.

He remembers -- lifetimes ago -- trying to explain it to Rose and the Doctor, trying to convince them that taking a nap in the eight-foot waterbed he'd found in the TARDIS's depths would be good for team morale. Rose had laughed, her smile huge and incandescent, and said, "I don't think so! My mum would slap me silly for being in bed with two people at the same time," which Jack had found fascinating. He can remember being amazed, questioning Rose about this funny taboo against sleeping with more than one person. The Doctor hadn't said no, he'd just said he wasn't tired and started tinkering with the console as Rose blushed and giggled, and tried to answer Jack's questions.

There's a fond glow that comes with the memory of wrapping arms around Rose's shoulders, teasing her while she spluttered that some things just weren't done; looking past her to watch the Doctor tinkering with the console, muttering as he went, explaining for Jack's benefit. He remembers Rose shaking her head, saying, "Boys and their toys," with fond annoyance.

Like most of his memories about the Doctor and Rose, it makes Jack smile and makes his gut clench at the same time. Makes him think of the list of the dead at Canary Wharf, makes him hope that her name was a typo, that the Doctor whisked her away behind a blue wooden door without anyone else noticing. He wants to see them again and hopes it will be soon, but it could be ninety years away. In the meantime...

He has Torchwood and aliens. And a warm body curled up against him.

There's a change in the breathing behind him. Jack realises that Ianto's awake.

"You were Torchwood One staff, right?" Jack asks, knowing the answer. "How did you survive the Battle of Canary Wharf?"

The arm over his side is pulled back as Ianto rolls away. "I wasn't there."

Jack glances over his shoulder and sees Ianto staring at the ceiling. "But you worked--"

"Yes, I worked for Torchwood London but I wasn't there. Lisa and I took the week off to go camping. All staff were recalled, but we were hours away. By the time we got there, the fighting was over. Only clean-up left."

"Good timing," Jack hears himself say.

There's a soft snort. "Yeah, right. Next time I take a holiday, I stop by a meteor landing and end up stuck in a cell with an alien inside me. I think my timing could do with some work."

"Possibly," Jack says, not knowing what else to say.

Ianto sits up, his white scrubs deliciously wrinkled, his dark hair sitting up at odd angles. "You probably need to get going," he says, avoiding eye-contact.

Jack takes the hint and leaves.

***

The next time Jack visits, Ianto's lying on the bed. He's facing away from the door, long line of back leading down to the sheet caught around his hips. Jack licks his lips and lets himself stare for a moment. Between the elasticised waistband and the loose cotton top, there's a few inches of exposed skin, raised curves of spine and smooth stretch of muscle.

Jack walks over to the bed and rests a hand on Ianto's back, sliding fingers over bare skin. "Hey."

"Jack?" Ianto asks sleepily, yawning and rolling over. "I tried to stay awake for you..."

"That's surprisingly hard in here."

Ianto smiles brightly but keeps his eyes closed, dark lashes resting against flushed skin. "That's what the pheromones are for."

Shaking his head, Jack can't help a small chuckle. "That's a terrible joke," he chides gently. "Besides, that doesn't seem to be a problem any more."

"Yeah, less death through orgasms, more--" Ianto's mouth stretches around a yawn. He raises a hand to cover it, but too late. "More sleeping."

Ianto rubs his eyes, fingers loosely fisted in a way that makes Jack think of five year olds, and then blinks up at Jack. His pupils are blown wide, his eyes mostly black with a thin ring of gun-metal grey around the edge.

Jack raises a hand to Ianto's neck, feeling the sluggish but strong pulse, and Ianto smiles again, asking, "Are you getting into bed?"

"Are you feeling okay, Ianto?"

"Tired." Ianto shrugs and closes his eyes against the bright fluorescent lights of the room. "Bored."

"Nothing else?"

"Just--" Ianto pauses, frowns, and now that Jack's looking for it, he can see clear signs of sedation in the too-long pauses and the loose, easy smiles. "Can you keep a secret? Well, not can you, but would you? For me?"

"For you?" Jack leans over the bed and whispers into Ianto's ear, "Certainly."

"Lisa Hallett," Ianto whispers back, breath warm and moist against Jack's skin. "Double l, double t. London. Ministry of Defence. Talk to her."

Jack knows the name from Jones' file: she was the girlfriend from Torchwood One, currently transferred to the MoD. "I can't tell her where you are," he says slowly.

"No, no, you can't tell her. You can't... Just--" Another pause, Ianto frowning in concentration. "Check on her. Make sure she believes the story. Make sure she's safe."

"I'll do that," Jack promises as he stands up. "But is that really the secret?"

Ianto shakes his head. "No, the secret is something else."

Jack's good at keeping secrets but he's terrible at letting other people have theirs. "What is it?"

Ianto watches him, eyes dark and surprisingly coy. "The secret is that I don't want to be hers anymore. I want to feel free to do... anything," he says, voice low and musical to Jack's ear. The effect is only slightly ruined when he yawns again.

"Get some sleep, Ianto Jones."

***

Jack decides to send Gwen. She has policing experience, she's good with victims and the cover-story of following up a line of enquiry from the car crash would work for her. But when he tells her about it -- skirting around certain aspects of the situation, such as 'the boyfriend is currently being held by UNIT' and 'he looks fantastic on his knees' -- her reaction is unexpected.

"Why did you have to pick me?"

"Excuse me?"

"I could have done with the extra twenty quid," she says as she leaves his office.

Jack blinks in confusion and then follows her to Owen's workstation, where she places two ten pound notes on Owen's desk.

"Told you," Owen says, smirking. "Oi! Tosh! The brave Captain here is sending Gwen. Pay up."

"You already have twenty pounds," Tosh responds primly.

"It was twenty quid each, and you know it," Owen says and then smiles shark-like at Jack, and adds, "We had a running bet about UNIT Boy's missus. I told them you'd send Gwen. Not out of a sense of decency, but because she can fake being a copper easier than the rest of us."

"You knew?" Jack manages, looking from Gwen's annoyed frown to Tosh's embarrassed grimace to Owen's smug smirk. "About Ianto?"

Gwen shrugs. "We wanted to keep an eye on you, make sure you were safe."

"You've recorded it all, haven't you?" Jack asks, knowing his team a little too well. Then he turns to Owen. "I didn't think it was your taste."

"There's such a thing as professional interest," Owen says, rolling his eyes.

"Picking up tips?" Gwen asks.

"Medical interest, you twits. They have scientists studying him, not doctors. Don't have a clue what they're doing."

Jack feels the smile drop from his face. Owen is many things -- annoying, brash, egotistical, stubborn -- but he's a good doctor. "Whatever they've got him on seems to be working."

"They've stopped his body from reacting to the gases the alien excretes -- in, I have to admit, a way I never would have considered -- but it's still building up in his system. To stop the pheromone production, they're keeping him sedated." Owen almost sounds angry. "Any half decent doctor would take pain as a sign that something is going wrong in the body. Instead, they've shot him full of sedatives because if a patient is in danger of organ failure, what you want to do is make sure the liver goes first."

"You think he's in danger?"

"With those short-sighted brainiacs?" Owen asks, although it's clearly a rhetorical question. "It's amazing he's still alive."

Tosh shoots Owen a nervous look. "Especially when you're making me change their recommendations on the server."

"Is that safe?" Jack asks seriously.

Owen nods. "If you don't want him slipping into toxic shock from the sedatives. But, you know, I'm someone who likes the humans to live. They don't care as long as they get their alien samples."

"We should do something," Gwen says, looking to Jack as if it's his responsibility. "We need to."

"I could bypass their security system," Tosh offers, giving him a quick smile, "and loop their security footage for nineteen minutes. And forty-three seconds."

Owen adds, "I've got theories. Might work. It's better odds than he's got in there."

Jack beams at them, for their compassion, their brilliance, their willingness to step into the fray. But that's where the problem comes in. "We can't. I don't want a UNIT taskforce breaking down my door to get him back. If we wander into their turf and kidnap their prisoner, not only will they take him back, they might also charge us for acting against international interests."

Owen and Gwen glare at him, but Tosh understands. She nods and asks, "Then how do we get him out of there?"

"I don't know," Jack says honestly and Owen snorts, shaking his head. "Not yet. In the meantime, Gwen, you go to London. Owen, tell me what you need to test those theories. Tosh..."

"Yes?"

Jack shrugs. "Actually, Tosh, I don't know that yet either. But when I do, I'm going to need your help."

***

Gwen calls from London and tells him that the girlfriend is mourning, but she's accepted it. She cried on Gwen's shoulder -- Gwen has a great skill at convincing people to share their pain -- sniffled and talked about how Ianto's parents have taken it. The important part is that she didn't ask any suspicious questions, didn't doubt the story.

At least that's something he can tell Ianto, Jack thinks, although he's not sure it's good news.

Tosh stops by his office and asks, "Can't you call in a favour? Get him out of there?"

Jack almost laughs at the gentleness, the desperate hopeful smile she gives him. "I hate to ruin the mystique, Tosh, but I don't have any owed favours left. I used most of them getting you out, and the guys that still owe me no longer have the power to fix this."

Halfway to the lift, Owen slips him a needle and two vials and says, "Blood samples. Get them and then I'll know."

***

Jack steps into the UNIT outpost feeling... well, not like he's going to his own execution because he's walked to his scheduled execution twice before, and both times he felt distinctly more hopeful than he does now. He fingers the needle and vials in his pocket -- hide something in an obvious place and no-one will question it -- and opens Ianto's door.

Ianto's lying on his back, restless and twisting under the sheet, eyes open. Jack has a moment to notice his eyes are more grey-blue than black, then the rush of pheromones hits him. He drops his coat to the floor, forgetting about the tubes in the pocket, and strides to the bed.

Ianto doesn't get up, just lies there and says brokenly, "Jack. Please." He licks his lips and Jack leans down, tracing the wet line with his tongue.

Ianto kisses him, sucking roughly at his mouth, dragging air out of his lungs, and Jack feels his heart stutter, feels his chest clench. When he pulls back, Ianto's skin is glowing.

Ianto growls, "More," and kisses him again. When Jack pulls back, he's gasping deep lungfuls of air like he's just come back from the dead.

Ianto kisses him again, and then Jack understands. He pulls out of reach, slides his hands up Ianto's forearms, intending to hold him down and finds straps already around Ianto's wrists. "Ianto?"

"More," Ianto says, shoulders curling off the bed, mouth angling for Jack's.

There are epic poems written about this level of self-control. There are odes to it, Jack thinks as he resists the urgent need to kiss Ianto, to press him down against the bed and take what he wants. "Not. Unless. This is. Ianto," Jack manages slowly but surely.

The body beneath him -- it's not Ianto in control, Jack's sure of it -- squirms and pants, and says, "More!"

It's more desperate than Jack is, giving Jack the upper hand. So he grins and says breathlessly, "I know what you want. And you don't get it, unless I get what I want. I want Ianto."

Then Jack laughs, because it's the only way to stop himself from groaning as the body beneath him squirms, rocking against him eagerly.

"Come on," Jack taunts. "Convince me to stay."

The body beneath him goes still, then the tension rushes out, head falling back to the pillow. Two unsteady breaths, then eyes open uncertainly.

"Ianto?"

"Jack?" Ianto asks quickly, jerking his arms. He twists his head, trying to see his wrists currently trapped under the pillow, and startles when Jack tugs on the buckles. "Don't! I'm not safe, I can't--"

"You're safe with me," Jack says, fingers working fast on the straps. "You know that."

Ianto shakes his head, reaching up with his freed hand to tug the button on Jack's collar undone. "Jack," he says softly, biting his lower lip and waiting until Jack's freed his other hand before wrapping arms around Jack's shoulders and pulling him down.

Breathing into Ianto's neck, pheromones making his head spin, Jack can't help rocking his hips, grinding his erection into Ianto's stomach. He tries to talk, tries to say, "Ianto, we don't have to--"

"Please," Ianto says gruffly, and it's a completely different need in his voice. "Get undressed. Please."

Jack nods and gets up, pulls down braces and undoes his belt, yanks his shirt over his head without undoing the buttons -- popping a few as he goes -- and pushes the rest of his clothes off as quickly as he can. Then he scrambles back into bed, under the sheet.

He starts pushing up Ianto's scrubs and gets distracted by warm, golden skin. Can't help tasting and licking, can't help rubbing his cheek against the soft brush of chest hair as Ianto takes over, pulls the material over his own head.

It takes Jack a moment to realise Ianto's muttering. Takes longer for Jack to think beyond taste and touch and smell to understand the words.

"There was a guy in first year. First year of uni. And I thought... I mean, I thought maybe. And from the way he smiled, he thought maybe too, but it never... It never quite happened. I figured it didn't matter, I figured I'd have time, but now--"

Jack moves up the bed and kisses Ianto to shut him up, to stop the words and the fear and the regret. Ianto wraps both arms around Jack's back, urging him closer. Then the kissing gets desperate, all sharp teeth and demanding tongue.

Jack can still feel the tug in his chest, like his heart's trying to beat its way out of his ribcage, but it doesn't stop him. It doesn't stop him reaching down, getting a hand on Ianto's inner thigh and yanking his legs apart. Doesn't stop Jack settling between Ianto's open legs and then pushing Ianto's scrubs down to his hips. It certainly doesn't stop him from pulling Ianto's ready cock free, lining it up against his, and fucking his own fist.

For a brief moment, Ianto stops kissing to gasp Jack's name, to mutter, "Yes, yes," against Jack's lips as Jack tightens his own fingers. He gets a hand in Ianto's hair, clenching around the short strands and pulling Ianto's mouth back to his.

Jack's world narrows to this bed, to gasps and skin and starched cotton sheets. It's impossible to think of anything else with Ianto's wet, luscious mouth open under his, relentlessly demanding contact. With Ianto's firm body, rocking and twisting beneath him, making the metal frame of the bed creak under them. Jack isn't sure which feels better: Ianto's smooth, hot cock against his, sliding between his fingers, or Ianto's hands, digging into his back, nails scraping roughly across Jack's skin.

He distantly registers Ianto wrenching his head away, grunting as he shoots against Jack's stomach. Jack's too caught up in _need_ , _want_ and _now_ , hand sliding slickly over his own cock, chasing the white blur of his own orgasm, crashing into the dark emptiness that waits for him.

Afterwards, Jack lies there, head on Ianto's chest, skin damp and sticky, and listens to Ianto's rapid heartbeat and hurried breathing. He luxuriates in it, in Ianto's hand stroking through his hair, in the press of bodies, and then pushes himself up to kiss Ianto once.

Jack moves his lips to Ianto's ear and whispers too softly to be overheard, "I want to take blood samples with me."

Ianto nods. He says nothing as Jack stays lying there and reaches for his coat, fumbling in the pocket and sliding the needle into the palm of his hand, hiding it from the ever-watchful camera in the ceiling. Hidden by the sheet, he slides the sliver of metal into Ianto's arm -- notices, for the first time, the bruises, the track-marks caused by injection after injection -- and fills both tubes before kissing Ianto's cheek and getting up.

It feels slightly disgusting getting dressed without a shower, but Jack pulls on clothes -- slides the tubes back into his pockets -- and leaves, trying to look nonchalant and well-fucked. He's almost outside the compound when he realises his holster is missing.

Turning on his heel, Jack starts walking back, stepping as fast as he can without drawing attention.

As the door opens, Jack scans the floor, but it's empty. Then he looks to the bed. Ianto is lying on his back, hands beneath his pillow as if Jack had tied him back up, but he doesn't meet Jack's gaze.

Jack walks over to the bed, leans down and slides a hand under the pillow, feeling the cold, metal butt of his gun and Ianto's fingers wrapped around it. "That's mine," he says softly. That tone would make any member of Jack's team wary; Ianto might not know him well enough to recognise it.

"Walk away," Ianto says, still not meeting Jack's eyes. "Pretend you didn't notice."

For a moment, Jack's tempted. Tempted to leave the kid a weapon, tempted to walk away and let him face his chances at escaping, but he suspects Ianto would make it, and then people would die. Jack can't let that happen.

Ianto must sense Jack's moment of weakness because he moves his fingers from the gun to Jack's hand, giving his fingers a quick squeeze. "I won't hurt anyone, Jack. This is a sealed room, air-tight. Nothing's going to escape."

"What?"

"I'll wait until the door's sealed behind you," Ianto says earnestly, looking at Jack now, "and you can say you didn't notice. You didn't know. They won't be able to blame you and as long as they keep the room sealed, everyone will be safe. They might still be able to study their alien."

With a sickening wrench in his gut, Jack understands. He almost wishes he didn't. "You want me to walk away and let you use my gun to shoot yourself?"

"If I had another option, Jack," Ianto says and shrugs. Then he smiles, as if Jack simply needs a little coaxing. "It's okay. Anyone who'd miss me already thinks I'm dead. Even Lisa, right?"

The lie hovers on Jack's tongue and he almost says that Ianto's wrong, that Lisa isn't convinced, that Lisa knows where he is and would be heartbroken if he gave up. But it seems needlessly cruel, so instead he says the truth. "I'd miss you."

Ianto's eyes go wide, as if he'd never even considered that. "It's the easiest way. It's the only thing I can do."

"Give me time," Jack says as he kisses Ianto, keeps kissing until Ianto finally kisses back. "My team is working on this and my team's damn good. Give me time before you give up."

"I don't know if I can." Ianto breathes in, and says, even softer, "I don't know when I'll be in control again. If I'll be in control again."

Jack traces cool fingertips across Ianto's temple and Ianto closes his eyes at the touch. With his other hand, Jack grasps his pistol and holster, and takes them back. "Trust me. I will do whatever it takes."

"As long as it doesn't endanger anyone else. And as long as UNIT lets you, and as long as Torchwood lets you. I know how these things work."

"You don't know me."

"I don't need to. I know that UNIT will keep me here, will keep me alive to run as many tests as they can, to get as much information as they can, and it doesn't matter if it hurts, it doesn't matter if--" Ianto stops, face scrunched tight and miserable. "If you're going to take the gun, don't come back. Just let this happen, let this finish."

He's utterly serious. Young and scared of what might happen, of losing all control. It makes it easy for Jack to be kind, for Jack to hold him close and drop a kiss against his hair.

"When I come back, I'm getting you out of here and then you can show your appreciation," Jack lets his voice drop lower, makes the innuendo obvious, "any way you choose."

Ianto blinks up at him and there's something new and hopeful in his expression but he still says, "You don't have to come back."

***

Jack pulls up security footage of Ianto's room. He rewinds past their last conversation, past the images of them furiously writhing in the bed, under grey blankets that only give the illusion of privacy. He rewinds through hours of Ianto lying on his back, twisting with his hands secured under the pillow. Jack keeps rewinding until there's a flurry of movement -- people moving hurriedly in hazmat suits -- then hits play.

Jack worries his thumbnail between his teeth and watches. He notes the disconnected, reptilian way Ianto moves when the yellow-suited scientist enters the room. Ianto -- or the thing controlling him -- walks closer, presenting his inner arm for the injection.

The scientist flicks the needle with a finger, looking down. He doesn't see the blur of movement as Ianto lurches, grabbing the hazmat helmet and pulling it free of the seal.

The scientist struggles briefly as Ianto pins him to the wall and kisses him. By the count of three, the scientist is kissing back, one hand grabbing onto Ianto's head and the other tugging at the hazmat suit, trying to get it off while Ianto gropes him through the layers.

The door opens and two UNIT guards step through, holding guns, yelling orders and dragging the scientist -- who Jack now recognises as Dr Whitten -- back by force.

Then they freeze.

Jack notices the lack of hazmat suits and has a sickening instant of foresight. He can easily imagine this ending with another three deaths heavy on Ianto's conscience.

Luckily, this is when the hazmat-protected team storms in, separating everyone and rushing all but Ianto outside. Ianto leans against the wall -- arms flopping strangely, like a puppet with cut strings -- until the hazmat team return. They keep guns trained on him as they order him onto the bed and secure his wrists above his head in thick, leather straps.

They stay in the room as a yellow-suited scientist moves efficiently to the bed and injects Ianto fast and certain. The scientist checks Ianto's pulse, blood pressure and temperature, then walks out.

Jack watches as Ianto is left alone, struggling and whimpering. It's hard to remember that it's not Ianto -- it's something using his body, his face -- so he closes the file and stands up, leaning heavily on his desk.

At the workstations, he can see his team. Owen looks tired, like he's losing sleep over this; Tosh is still working on the security feed, typing her way through passwords as she chews nervously on the earpiece of her glasses. Gwen's ordering food, willing to help in any way she can. Jack loves each of them for it, but it's not enough to stop him worrying for Ianto.

***

"Even when you know the truth, sometimes it does you good to hear it," Owen says, sauntering into Jack's office and standing in front of Jack's desk, hands in his pockets. "With that in mind, I think you should tell me I'm brilliant."

"Compared to what?" Jack asks warily. He's been angry and sullen most of the day. He knows it's not fair to take it out on the team, so he pastes on a smile and tries to indulge Owen's ego.

"Compared to, oh, everyone you've ever met?"

"No."

"Compared to every doctor you've ever worked with?"

"Definitely no."

Owen frowns. "What about all the people you've employed?"

"What are we talking about?" Tosh asks, stepping inside Jack's office.

Jack doesn't say a word. He just points at Tosh and raises an eyebrow at Owen.

"Okay, fine, not in comparison to Tosh because we all know her IQ is higher than the GDP of most third-world nations," Owen rattles off, completely unaware of the sweet smile that lights Tosh's face, "but I don't think I'm asking a lot here. Just a little appreciation for my intelligence."

"I will admit that, not counting Tosh and not counting myself," Jack says, winking at Tosh, "you are the smartest person in this room."

"Oh, that's nice," Owen replies, turning to Tosh for sympathy and getting an amused shrug in return. "I spend four nights here. Instead of going out on the pull, I'm searching for a way to save UNIT Boy and when I finally figure it out, he can't even pay me a simple compliment, not even a few words of encouragement. Where's the love?"

Tosh rolls her eyes, but Jack's reaction is far more serious. "You've got a plan?" he demands, getting to his feet.

"Uh-uh. Not after you've sat there insulting me. Tell me I'm brilliant."

"You outshine supernovas," Jack says fervently.

Owen nods once. "Conference room. We'll explain all."

***

Jack hasn't believed in anything approaching religion in a long time -- excepting the Temple of T'eh'Joor since their main form of worship was group orgies and Jack didn't believe so much as heartily support the established doctrine -- but he takes a moment to pray, to hope and silently beg that this works. Then he squares his shoulders and walks into Ianto's cell.

Ianto's back on the bed, hands under his pillow and it takes him a moment to look towards the doorway. His eyes widen, and he says, "Jack." Then there's a pause, as if he doesn't know if he wants to smile or frown. "I told you not to come."

"I told you I'd be back."

A few easy strides and Jack's across the room, shrugging out of his coat. He remembers the footage Tosh showed him, remembers where he needs to drop his coat, his shirt, his t-shirt on the way to the bed. Braces loose around his hips and trouser pockets heavy with one important item, Jack pulls back the covers on the bed and gets in.

Ianto takes all of this with a fairly good-natured smile, but there's a nervousness in his eyes: terrible, desperate fear and hope mixed together. Jack hooks a leg over Ianto's -- simply because he can -- then slides his hands up under the pillow and tugs the straps free from Ianto's wrists.

"Shh," he says when Ianto starts to say his name and Ianto nods against his shoulder. Once Ianto's hands are free, Jack claims half the pillow for himself. He tugs the sheets up until they're both hidden from the camera.

"Very cosy," Ianto says softly, mouth mere inches from Jack's cheek.

Jack doesn't explain that he's doing it because Tosh can loop the audio feed longer than she can loop the visual footage. She has a soundtrack of previous encounters: silence apart from the rustle of blankets and the occasional sharp breath, a bitten-off groan or the wet sound of kissing. Inside his head, Jack gives himself until the count of five before he speaks. "I can't get you out of here."

"You--" There's a devastating second, everything showing clearly on Ianto's face. Then Ianto draws in a breath, steadying his features and his voice. "Thank you for telling me."

"I'm sorry to say it." Jack really is. It's the last thing he wants to tell Ianto, but it's the only way this will work.

Ianto runs a hand through Jack's hair, cool fingers rubbing against Jack's scalp and Jack falls silent, suddenly not sure who's comforting who. "You tried, Jack. Can't ask for more than that."

"Did you still want--" Jack stops. He needs to bring this up right, needs Ianto to agree. "If I left my gun here, would you still want it? Still use it?"

For a long minute, Ianto is as silent as a statue, striking but etched in stone. "If you're offering," he says slowly, gently, "then yes."

"I'm not offering. Well, not the gun." Jack takes a deep breath. Lying to people usually isn't this hard. "I talked to a doctor I know. He got his hands on something for me."

Jack moves a hand to his trouser pocket and pulls out a deceptively small, harmless looking needle. The liquid inside is clear with a slight orange tinge.

"Live by the hypodermic, die by the hypodermic," Ianto says dryly. At any other time, it would make Jack smile.

"Think of it as a strong sedative. It'll slow down your pulse, slow your breathing. It will affect your nerves, stop you from being able to move or feel things, but it'll be like falling asleep. It won't hurt." Owen swore it would work, but Jack still tested it himself. Apart from the mild panic of not being able to breathe -- the frightening realisation that even if he wanted to yell for help, he couldn't -- it wasn't a bad way to die. Certainly one of the nicer ways that Jack's experienced.

"Into the vein?" Ianto asks, and Jack nods. "Does it take long?"

"A few minutes. It's fairly quick." For one heartbreaking second, Ianto's gaze is pleading, asking Jack for something he can't give. All Jack can do is repeat his promise. "It won't hurt."

Ianto closes his eyes and nods. "Put it under the pillow," he says softly. Jack frowns, not understanding until Ianto adds, "I'll use it as soon as you've gone."

"I'll stay."

"You said you'd miss me," Ianto says simply, but part of it sounds like an accusation. "For me, it'll be over in a few minutes. Stay and you'll probably have nightmares for months."

"No--" Jack starts but Ianto presses his fingers to Jack's lips.

"It's okay. I can do it. I wouldn't make you watch that."

Jack kisses him, stalling for time. This wasn't a complication he'd foreseen. Ianto kisses him back desperately, fingers clawing into Jack's shoulders and Jack knows what to say when he pulls back. "I can't fix this, Ianto. But I can help it end and I can be here. I can make sure you're not alone. Let me."

He holds Ianto's gaze until Ianto sighs and gives in with a small nod.

Jack reaches up, the back of his hand brushing the cotton sheet. He traces the worry lines creasing Ianto's forehead, across the thin skin of his temples, down the prominent curve of cheekbone. "Let me do this," he says softly because Ianto seems to need a little more encouragement.

Jack waits. It feels like hours but it's probably only a minute before Ianto says, "Okay," in a small voice.

In the back of his head, Jack can hear Owen's instructions ("Forearm, find the vein. You can remember that, right, Jack? Because if you shoot this concoction into muscle it's going to hurt like hell. And it's not going to work, so find the vein."). He rubs a finger over Ianto's inner elbow, warming the skin and watching the vein become a little more prominent. He could have guessed from the track-marks on Ianto's arm but he wants to be certain.

He slides the needle in -- no resistance, no word of complaint -- and presses down the plunger. Then he pulls the needle out, gives Ianto a quick smile, and kicks his left foot out the side of the bed, free from the covers where Tosh can see. It's the signal to start looping the security feed.

Under his breath, he counts until ten. (Tosh told him to count to five but an extra few seconds caution won't hurt.) He pushes back the covers and gets out of bed, placing the empty hypodermic into his outside coat pocket.

"Job done?" Ianto asks brightly, like he expects Jack to disappear. Almost like he's trying to give permission.

"Have you ever known me to pass up the opportunity for a nap?"

Ianto shakes his head, and watches Jack get back into the bed. When Jack gets in, Ianto gives the camera above them a meaningful look. "Maybe pull the sheets back up? Stop them from watching?" he asks, and there's already a catch in his voice. It's the first noticeable stage: a slight difficulty breathing as it becomes harder to open up the chest, harder to fill the lungs completely.

"No need," Jack says and Ianto looks at him curiously. "I had one of my team hack into UNIT's servers. They're looping the security feed."

"You broke into," a pause, a breath, "UNIT's security system? Are you insane?"

"Charmingly debonair, certainly. Not insane."

"They could charge you," Ianto says, pausing for another breath. "Working against. International interests."

"They could, but they won't. I'm not taking down UNIT from the inside. I'm denying them one final peepshow. They'll live."

Ianto frowns at him reprovingly; it's a prim but quite adorable expression. "You shouldn't. Do that," he says, breathing getting quicker. That's when Jack notices the rhythm beneath his speech, the short angry gasps as he struggles for breath, trying to force his body to stay in his control. Another minute of this and Ianto will be panicking, hyperventilating himself for no good reason.

"Hey," Jack says, softening the word as much as he can. "Relax."

"At this stage," Ianto says, stubborn and scared. "I don't think. It matters. If I'm relaxed. Or not."

It's easy to get a hand on Ianto's shoulder and roll him over: there's no muscle resistance. Jack hadn't considered that the drugs might affect an ordinary person faster than they affected him. In hindsight, he probably should have.

"Okay," he says gently, "relax. I mean it, this time."

Jack shuffles closer, until their knees are brushing and their chests are touching. Then he lifts Ianto's head and puts his arm underneath.

"I feel like…" Ianto says, and Jack can feel his jaw working against Jack's bicep. His breathing sounds easier in the new position. "A rag doll."

"More like a teddy-bear," Jack replies. He rests his forehead against Ianto's. Ianto's skin already feels cool against his. He works a hand under Ianto's scrubs, fingers splayed across Ianto's back (partly to hold him close, partly to monitor his breathing.) "I met Teddy Roosevelt once. Quite a charismatic man. More so than you'd expect."

It earns Jack a smile. Jack returns it and says, "Close your eyes."

"Why?"

"Because going to sleep deserves a bedtime story, and bedtime stories aren't the same with your eyes open."

"Really?" Ianto asks, but the word comes out stretched, making it sound deep and strange.

Jack does his best to ignore it. "You are going to close your eyes and you're going to listen. There will be no mockery from the peanut gallery."

Ianto blinks, his reactions slowing, and then closes his eyes.

"You have very pretty eyes, you know," Jack says, since it's the first thing he thinks of. "All shades of blue and grey. Makes me think of the ocean. I grew up near the ocean. Used to play there as a kid. Run straight from my door for ten minutes and there was the beach, sea glittering across the horizon, all grey and blue. Sometimes green, depending on the weather."

Jack brushes a strand of hair back from Ianto's forehead, and Ianto mumbles something that gets trapped in slurred consonants and grumbled vowels.

"It was a proper beach, too, like the sandy ones you get here. We were surrounded by sand where I grew up. Fine white sand of the desert bleeding into the coarse yellow sand of the beach, and then sea. All sunlight and sand, hot on your skin and warm between your toes. Bright, hot skies."

Eyes closed, Ianto nods against Jack's arm, making a small contented "hmmm" noise.

"I love watching the clouds here. An entire sky, overcast and grey, full of rain waiting to fall. There's a part of me that always thinks that's amazing."

Ianto's breathing is soft, so gentle Jack has to raise fingers to Ianto's mouth to feel it.

Swallowing, Jack continues, "We never had clouds. The closest we had was dust clouds before a storm. They'd start at the horizon, near the desert but if they came all the way out to the sea, the whole sky would be a dusky burnt orange. If you watched the ground you could see swirling patterns of sunlight as the sand moved and twisted in the air, caught by the winds. It was deadly, but I loved watching it. It's one of my strongest childhood memories: being curled up under a blanket, safe inside, watching the storm pass."

When Jack raises a hand to Ianto's throat, there's no pulse. Jack closes his eyes for a moment, presses a kiss to Ianto's damp forehead, and then gets up.

Jack walks to the other side of the room. He wants a wall at his back for this. His fingers brush the ridged surface of the alien device in his pocket. It's small, only a few inches wide, a diamond-shaped, flat piece of silver but the beauty of this device isn't how it looks, it's how well it functions. Owen refers to it as an inflatable prison cell; the correct term is a personal energy barrier.

Jack palms it and waits.

It takes a little longer than expected. He'd worried that once the alien was aware of Jack's presence, once Jack offered to help Ianto die, the alien would flee one host for another. It had been the big flaw in the plan because none of them -- not Tosh, not Gwen, not Owen and certainly not Jack -- could figure out a way for Jack to resist alien invasion while pressed close to Ianto. All Owen could offer was blood-pressure medication, something to make sustaining an erection difficult, so he'd have a chance of resisting and keeping the ability to think. (As Jack said at the time, the depressing thing was that it wasn't the first time a doctor had suggested impotence would keep him alive longer.)

As Jack watches, purple-pink smoke rises from Ianto's slack lips. Jack can't decide if it looks more like a cloud or like candy floss. It swirls over Ianto's chest, getting darker, the colour becoming more vibrant. It starts gliding over to Jack, standing tall. Well, hovering tall, Jack mentally amends. There's something vaguely humanoid about its shape: a suggestion of shoulders, a hint of arms.

Jack grins. He loves this part of a mission.

This is the moment when he's honestly not sure if all their research is right, if they've interpreted the data correctly. It's the terrifying moment when things might go wrong in new and completely unknown ways. He doesn't want it to fail but this second of not-knowing, this instant of possibility is scary and exhilarating; in these moments, Jack feels alive.

Jack grips the device in his fingers. Waits until the creature is halfway across the room and then throws the device on the floor between them. It activates with a barely audible hum, a pale light streaming up, forming a cone around the smoke.

Trapped inside the energy field, the alien moans lowly, like a whale song echoing beneath the waves. It darts back forth, from one curved energy wall to the other, movements becoming hurried and desperate.

It looks like Jack's team was right: their atmosphere is deadly to the creature.

Jack thinks he should probably mourn it. It might not have come here on purpose, it might not have meant to feed on people; it might have been just as frightened and desperate to stay alive as Ianto Jones. But Jack doesn't know that for sure. What he does know is that Ianto was willing to die to keep everyone safe. If he only gets to save one of them, Jack's made his choice. He can't regret it.

But he does what he can: he stands guard as its low cries of pain become softer and its movements become more sluggish. Jack watches and he remembers. It's more than most casualties get.

The creature disintegrates into dust, falling into a pile of chalky pink powder on the floor. Jack takes a breath and snaps off a salute.

Then he jogs to his coat, pulls out the needle of adrenaline from his inside pocket and runs back to the bed. As far as needles go, it's frighteningly huge.

Jack remembers Owen's instructions. He presses his left hand flat against Ianto's chest, feels fingers along the ribcage. Counts them to three, stabs between the third and fourth rib and hopes he hits the heart. He depresses the needle, pulls it away, but there's no immediate reaction.

Jack starts CPR. Four quick presses to Ianto's chest, a deep breath into his mouth. His hands are clasped over Ianto's chest, pressing with the heel of his palm.

Halfway through the fourth one, Ianto gasps and flounders on the bed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Jack mutters, trying to calm him down as Ianto pants for breath and tries to sit up. "Take it easy, otherwise you might feel--"

Ianto wrenches away from Jack, hand pressed to his mouth and then throws up on the floor beside the bed.

"Nauseous," Jack finishes after a moment. "Side-effect of the drugs."

Ianto wipes at his mouth with a corner of the sheet. "You..." He stops, his voice sounding gruff.

"Mint?"

Ianto nods, takes the breath mint from Jack's hand. He sucks on it, and when he speaks, his voice sounds less painful. "You had no intention of letting me die."

"Not today."

"Then why do that? Why let me think..."

Jack rubs a hand in circles against Ianto's back. "Because I needed to."

"Was I supposed to learn some great moral from throwing up? If the message was no big meals before suicide, you could have told me."

"No lesson. It was the only way I could turn the creature inside you into that pile of dust," Jack replies with a grin, pointing to the powder sitting in the middle of the floor.

Ianto blinks at it. Then at Jack. He looks as if he doesn't know what to think. Or what to feel. "I'm free?"

"Not… technically," Jack says sheepishly. "Technically, you're still UNIT's prisoner and still a non-citizen. Also, your family and friends think you're dead and we can't tell them otherwise without being charged under the Official Secrets Act. Trust me, telling loved ones that you were abducted because of aliens is never a good idea, no matter what Gwen says."

"Gwen?"

"One of my team. You'll like her." Jack pauses, trying to imagine Ianto in the Hub. Trying to imagine how Ianto would fit around Owen's jagged edges, around Gwen's soft, embracing welcome, around Tosh's straight lines of honour and compassion. "I think you'd like all the team, actually."

"Does it seem likely I'll ever meet them?" The words aren't particularly helpful but there's a gentle humour in Ianto's tone that Jack hasn't heard before.

"I'm thinking," Jack says slowly, putting the plan together as he goes. When he talked about this with the team, they hadn't planned beyond saving Ianto's life from alien threat. "I'm thinking I should apply to UNIT to have custody of you."

"I'd be your prisoner?" There's a sharp smirk, a raised eyebrow. Ianto clearly finds this quite amusing.

"You could be in my custody. Come see my secret hideout."

The smirk gets a little sharper. "I thought I'd already seen--"

Ianto's interrupted by a pounding on the door, and UNIT guards with guns and berets but a noticeable lack of hazmat suits -- Jack really should talk to them about their standard emergency response planning.

"Captain Harkness," one of them calls out. "You need to step out of the cell now."

Jack rolls his eyes to Ianto. To the guards, he replies, "Give me a minute to grab my coat."

"Sir, the security system has been compromised and--"

"Yes, I'm coming. Really." With a sigh, he turns back to Ianto and says, "Stay here."

"I'll do my best."

***

Over the next two hours, Jack repeats his story to no less than four separate ranks. By the time they get to the General, Jack is really, really sick of repeating himself.

"Alien's destroyed, the kid is fine. Do you need to know details?"

The General harrumphs, shuffles paper and says, "If it were up to me, I'd be holding you in custody too, _Captain_ Harkness." The way he says 'captain' makes it clear he doubts the veracity of Jack's title. Jack considers that vaguely unfair, given that -- this time -- he earned it.

"And yet, you're not." Jack smirks, loving the way the General's face flushes angrily. Jack might not have enough favours to get Ianto out of here, but his history's long enough to ensure he'll walk out of this. If he were anyone else, he'd already be in an adjoining cell.

"No," the General says after a moment, "we're not. But we are holding Jones. I assume you can see yourself out, _Captain_."

"There's absolutely no need--" Jack says, standing up, but the General talks through him.

"It's not your call to make. We'll be holding the boy until we're absolutely certain your story is accurate."

"He isn't a threat. He isn't a danger," Jack says, or possibly yells. He's frustrated and annoyed, and he hates this kind of bureaucracy. He hates the type of mind that thinks in simple, petty swirls of ego and one-upmanship. "There is no need for him to stay here."

"Scientific curiosity," Dr Whitten supplies, blinking small beady eyes. "We need to make sure there aren't any permanent effects. That it wasn't part of a reproduction cycle, for instance. For all we know, Jones is still a host, just an unaware one."

Since Jack inherited Torchwood Three, he's squabbled with UNIT far too many times not to recognise a reasonable argument. There is a possibility that they're right -- very slim, but it's there -- and he doesn't have the right to take that risk with every life in Cardiff.

So he accepts defeat gracefully and stands with a small smile. "When this is done, when he's cleared, he's a Torchwood staff member. He comes back to us."

"When this is over, when UNIT is certain he is no longer a threat, we'll discuss what happens with Jones," the General replies smugly, leaning back in his chair.

Jack does not punch him, does not shout and does not consider shooting everyone in the room; instead, he nods once and walks out. In some ways, working with UNIT has really made him grow as a person.

***

Jack can be patient. He thinks fondly of Estelle, remembers how long it took for her to agree to dance with him, let alone go on an unescorted moonlit walk with him.

Jack has the capacity for patience, but he lacks the inclination for it.

After the first week goes by, Jack starts to worry. Jack tries not to let it show to the rest of the team; he doesn't want them to think their fearless leader is sitting around wondering where his sweetheart is and what he's doing, but it's difficult. He tries to serenely accept being kept on hold for over an hour every time he calls UNIT and gets the same message ('when anything changes, he will be informed'). When he shows unannounced for a quick visit -- wanting to check on Ianto's health, wanting to be sure Ianto is still in the country -- the guards actually raise arms against him and escort him out at gunpoint.

Finally, Jack asks Tosh, who shrugs and twists a strand of dark hair between caramel-toned fingers. "If I could, Jack," she says worriedly.

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that UNIT's put some serious time into increasing their security systems and keeping me out of there. It's supposedly impenetrable."

"You can't get in?"

"Give me a few days, maybe a week. Half of the code is being randomly generated and it's not something that easy to predict--" Tosh cuts herself off, shrugging and ducking her head to the side. "As soon as I break through, I'll let you know. But right now, it's hard to push their system without being noticed."

There's nothing left for Jack to say but, "Thank you," and resist the urge to ask her again.

***

So Jack keeps himself busy any way he can. He scans the Rift, tracks down aliens, snuffles out devices like a hog hunting for truffles. He volunteers to drive five hours out of Cardiff to tell a visiting platoon of Wulfriki to take their shore leave on some other planet (but he noticed Gwen's worried glance as he left).

Jack scrubs a hand through his hair and waits for a red traffic light, and tries not to think about the colour of Ianto's eyes. The taste of his skin. He knows he shouldn't brood on the situation: he's waiting for UNIT, waiting for scientists and their studies, waiting for forms signed in triplicate before he'll see Ianto again. The trouble with working for secret organisations is that there's never a clear complaints procedure, so there's nothing Jack can do.

Being helpless, being trapped, only frustrates Jack more.

Jack's in the middle of not thinking about Ianto -- not thinking about his hands, the solid warmth of his torso under Jack's fingers, the heat of his skin under Jack's mouth -- when his phone chirrups.

The text message from Owen is simple and to the point: _Meet me at Eli's._

If it were an alien threat, Owen would say to bring weapons so Jack assumes it's only a social visit. He parks outside and walks in to find Owen sitting in a booth, nursing two beers.

"Here," Owen says, waving Jack over, "sit."

"I'm not really in the mood," Jack says, forcing a smile anyway.

Owen rolls his eyes and pushes a glass in Jack's direction. "I didn't ask if you were in the mood."

"Aren't social gatherings supposed to have an element of--"

"If you go back to the Hub and snipe at Tosh one more time, she will find a way to target your inbox with spam and reset all your passwords. She threatened to come up with even more inventive revenge if I didn't keep you out of the Hub tonight." Owen pulled a face. "And Tosh can be frighteningly inventive so sit down and have a drink."

Jack blinks and drops into the chair opposite Owen. His fingers curl loosely around the cool glass, but he doesn't drink. "I haven't been that bad," he says finally.

"That bad and worse."

"I can apologise to the girls in the morning."

Shrugging, Owen raises his glass and half empties it in three sharp swallows.

Jack watches Owen's throat move, the Adam's apple bobbing up and down, but he doesn't think anything lascivious or lustful. He just notes it absently. "I didn't think I'd been that bad," Jack says, and this time, it's almost an apology.

"Forget it. We understand, but if we have to spend one more night with you moping around your office, looking heartbroken and miserable, one of us is going to snap. My money's on Gwen," Owen adds with a nasty smile. "Next time you pull that fake cheer and the 'I'm not criticising you but I just wanted to point out this little nitpick' routine, I think Gwen and Tosh might combine forces and castrate you."

Jack laughs. He can't help it. His team has always been... imaginative. "Well, I wouldn't want that."

"I'm sure the hundred people in Cardiff you haven't slept with yet would mourn it too."

They sit quietly for a while: Owen quietly drinking and leering at a girl at the bar, Jack staring into his glass. Jack doesn't even have the heart to eavesdrop on other people's conversations. The pub's half-full and upbeat pop music bleeds through the speakers, occasional loud spikes of laughter cutting through it.

Normally, Jack enjoys spending time around crowds, likes seeing people enjoy themselves, hearing them talking, watching them smile and flirt, ignorant and petty and wonderful, going about everyday lives, celebrating meaningless victories and bemoaning every disappointment. It makes Jack feel fond of this time, of the simplicity of the people with their tiny concerns and surprisingly large compassion.

But tonight, it makes him feel alone. It makes him feel the distance of being the only person who knows, an adult surrounded by children playing.

It must show on his face, because Owen gives him a look and says, "Oh god. Please. Stop looking like this is a funeral. We're having a drink, not mourning the dearly departed."

"Must you be so obnoxious?"

"If you're going to be this much of a drama queen," Owen shoots back, but there's a smile hidden amongst the sarcasm, "then yes. Come on. The kid's safe. Sure, he's being held by UNIT and they're on some stupid little power trip and not letting you talk to him, but he's safe. Ever heard of being thankful for the small things?"

"I'm thankful," Jack bites back.

Owen gives him another stare, but doesn't point out that Jack's moping like a teenager. (Jack knows this. His team knows this. Jack doesn't need the obvious stated to him.) "Finish your beer and I'll buy the next one."

Jack downs his in a few fast gulps and shoves his empty glass at Owen. While he watches Owen order drinks at the bar -- complete with pathetic attempts at flirting with the girl sitting there, who is clearly not interested -- Jack takes a deep breath and tries to shake himself out of his bad temper.

Yet again, he internally debates the wisdom of breaking into UNIT and taking Ianto by force. Pro: he'd get to see Ianto again. Con: Jack would probably see him through shared prison bars.

Owen returns to the table with whisky for both of them. Jack takes it gratefully, content to drink in silence.

Well, until Owen swishes the last mouthful around the bottom of his glass and says, "I've never seen you..."

Jack raises an eyebrow.

"I've never seen you like this. So... smitten."

Jack doesn't have anything to say to that, so he shrugs and places his own empty glass on the table.

"I never thought that was your type," Owen says, because he's physically unable to resist indulging his curiosity.

Jack stares at Owen. It's been a long week and Jack doesn't feel up to translating twenty-first century context into a conversation like this. "Is this going to be a man-woman thing?" he asks tiredly.

"Nah. I always figured you were--" Owen flops a limp-wristed hand Jack. "Look at the way you dress. I've been telling Tosh for years that you're not straight."

"Categories," Jack mutters but Owen ignores him.

"Also, I've seen you pull blokes. That's nothing new. But I've never seen you..." Owen waves a hand vaguely from Jack's head to Jack's waist, and flitters it back and forth. As far as hand gestures go, it's not particularly meaningful. "I've never seen you give a damn about seeing them again. Always figured you retconned half of them."

"I do," Jack says, and despite Owen's cynicism, he seems surprised by Jack's admission. "If they're witnesses, I can't let them remember and it's very easy to slip retcon into coffee the next morning."

"But you want UNIT Boy to remember?"

"I like him."

"You like everyone."

"Yeah, I do," Jack replies with a self-deprecating grin, "but I really like him."

Owen gives him a sharp smile. "Enough that you'd be willing to blackmail UNIT?"

"If I had anything that juicy, I would have used it already."

"But if you had something, theoretically, you'd be willing, right?" There's something in Owen's tone that makes Jack very, very wary.

"Owen," he says warningly, "what have you done?"

"I haven't done anything." There's just enough smugness in his tone that Jack believes him. "Tosh, on the other hand..."

Before Jack can say anything, Owen stands up and waves.

It's a matter of instinct, of reflex, to turn and see who Owen's waving to.

At the other end of the pub, Tosh and Gwen walk in, beaming widely. Between them, Ianto walks arm in arm with them. Jack checks him out head-to-foot, notices the simple t-shirt and hoodie, jeans and Adidas sneakers. Jack takes a moment to appreciate the denim stretched tight across Ianto's thighs, and then drags his eyes back up to meet Ianto's bright smile.

"How in the world did you do this?" Jack hisses to Owen. He spares Owen a quick glance and then looks back across the room, fearing Ianto will disappear if he looks away too long.

"It was Tosh," Owen says proudly. "She blackmailed them. Took control of their servers and threatened to wipe out their databanks if they didn't release him."

Jack tries but he can't wipe the smile from his face. "I should be scared of your combined initiative," he says through his teeth as the girls approach with their willing prize in tow.

"Gwen, Tosh," Jack says, nodding a welcome and letting his voice drop lower, "Ianto."

"We have a new Torchwood employee," Gwen says, grinning at him. "Thought we should make a night of it."

***

The night goes surprisingly well. Gwen and Owen only argue the once and it's not about anything serious -- the Premiership and Cardiff's chances of ever making it -- but they squabble back and forth, enjoying the fight like children, until Ianto says, "Actually, I think Gwen's right."

"Like you'd know," Owen replies. "You've been locked away from civilisation for weeks. You don't have a clue."

"Yeah. Because it's not like we have a world wide system of interconnected computers, which stores information on the most trivial subjects and records everyone's opinions on everything. Oh, wait--" Ianto pauses, a finger on his chin and looks up at the ceiling as if he's genuinely searching his memory for this, "I'm forgetting about the internet, aren't I?"

Tosh giggles into her drink. It's pink and fruity and something that Jack is definitely trying next time.

"Oh, yeah, believe some wanker with a keyboard over me. I'm sure they know better," Owen grumbles but there's nothing spiteful in it. It's just Owen being opinionated as always. "Doesn't matter what Unit Boy here thinks, there's no way they're getting into the final. Just no way, Gwen."

Gwen makes some biting reply that has Owen spluttering and quoting figures, or making up statistics as he goes, but Jack doesn't pay much attention. He's distracted by the press of Ianto's lower lip against the glass when he drinks, the curve of his cheeks flushed pink with alcohol. The way his eyes crinkle into cat-like slits as he laughs at Gwen's reply. There's something cheeky, something promising, in that Cheshire Cat expression, and Jack spends a good while contemplating where he'd need to tickle to cause that same laughter.

Jack's jolted from his enjoyable reverie by Owen elbowing him in the ribs. "Oi, your round."

Jack shakes his head and looks around at the empty glasses on the table. "Didn't I just pay for drinks?"

"Yeah, you paid, then we paid. Now it's your turn again."

"Perfectly fair," Gwen adds in, looking for all the world like she's trying very, very hard not to smile.

Jack could argue the point but at the other side of the table, sitting between Tosh and Gwen, Ianto's watching them all with amusement, eyes darting back and forth as they pretend to argue.

"Fine," Jack says, admitting defeat, "but we're all having what Tosh is drinking."

"Oh, come on," Owen whines and Tosh says, "Sex on the beach."

Jack stares at her. "What?"

"That's the name of the drink. Sex on the beach."

There's a pause, silence around the table, and then Owen says, "It's no fun when the innuendo's that obvious."

Jack nods. "I was thinking the same thing."

Jack stands up, shuffles past Owen and then hears Ianto ask, "Jack?"

Maybe Owen's right: maybe smitten is the right word. All it takes is that one word, the vowels softened and stretched by that musical accent, and Jack's grinning, happy to buy the team whatever they want. Give them the world in payment, if they asked for it. Ianto's still paused, waiting for a reply so Jack tilts his head and gives a small gentlemanly bow. "Yes?"

Ianto smiles and then points at his almost empty beer glass. "If it's possible, I'd prefer a Guinness."

"That proves he's a Welshman," Gwen mutters, "prefers beer to sex."

Jack doesn't correct her. He just heads to the bar.

He ends up talking to the girl who Owen's been persistently trying to chat up all night. She subtly tries to initiate conversation and then asks outright if Owen's really a doctor at the local hospital. Jack's feeling generous, full of good will towards -- well, if not the whole world then at least his team -- so he shakes his head and says, "No, he isn't."

She turns to her friend. "I knew it."

"He works for Doctors Without Borders," Jack mentions casually, as if the subject is too boring for him to care about. "He's staying in Cardiff for a few nights before he leaves again. He's got this stupid hang-up about telling girls. Thinks it'll make him look sleazy or something."

It's not the most outrageous lie Jack's told for the sake of sex (he once convinced an entire town he was the Crown Prince of Arethia) but it's probably the biggest lie he's ever told to get someone else laid. Jack's pretty sure it works because she turns towards Owen with a speculative gleam in her eye.

Jack asks nicely for a tray for the drinks, and gets one. When he gets back to the table, Ianto's gone. The toilets are on the far side of the bar so Jack would've seen Ianto pass, but...

"Quit looking so concerned," Owen says. "He stepped out to get some air."

"He said something about there being more people in here than he's seen in a month," Tosh supplies helpfully.

"Out in the beer garden," Gwen adds.

Owen picks up the glass of Guinness and takes a sip. At Jack's reprimanding stare, he says, "What? He's not here."

Jack continues staring until Owen finally says, "Fine, I'll buy him another one when he gets back," then Jack nods and heads outside.

Jack finds Ianto leaning against the brick wall, one knee bent up and head tilted back, staring at the dark sky above them. It's not cold -- not for Cardiff, anyway -- but there's a chill in the air that makes Jack huddle into his coat as he stands beside Ianto.

"Too many people?" Jack asks and Ianto startles, looking over and giving Jack a sheepish smile.

"Just a few." Ianto goes back to looking up. "I know it's only been a few weeks, but it feels like years since I've seen the night sky."

"I did promise to make you see stars, Ianto Jones."

Ianto snorts in amusement, but there's a tightness to his smile. "Should we go back to the others?" he asks, pushing himself off the wall.

"No." Jack says and Ianto looks surprised. "Let's stay here. Talk. Just us."

Ianto glances away so Jack waits. He listens to the pop music muted by walls and windows, the chatter and squeals of conversation silenced to a soft susurrus, like distant swarms of locusts. The light above them falls on Ianto's cheekbones and casts shadows down his cheeks. It makes him look older and far more dangerous than he ever did in those white scrubs.

"What happens now?" Ianto asks softly.

"Whatever you want."

"Jack." It's a soft reprimand. "I was being serious."

Jack doesn't mention that he was being perfectly serious too. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Ianto sighs, shrugs, looks anywhere but at Jack's face. "I mean, how does this work? Tonight's been fun and all, but I'd like to know what being in Torchwood custody means. Judging by today, I'd assume I'm to stay at the Hub, keep underground with occasional escorted trips above."

Jack shakes his head. "I want you working for me."

"Better than being bored," Ianto says, sounding as if he's making the best of a situation he has no control over.

"No, I want you working for me. Same as the others. An employee. You show up, set your own roster. As long as I get seventy hours a fortnight, I don't care when you do them. You get paid, rent a place of your own. Run like hell when I call. That's the quick sales pitch."

"For how long?" Ianto leans shoulders against the wall, turning to face Jack. "Is there a time limit on this? If I work for you for a year, for two, for five, and all goes well, will I be free to leave? Or is this an 'until I die' contract?"

Jack's been a conman -- a very good conman -- long enough to know the most tempting illusion in life is choice. Make a man (or woman, or gender neutral) believe they have the power to walk away at any time, and they'll follow to the edge of the sun. Tell them they're imprisoned and they'll find a way to break free.

"You could leave now," Jack says. He knows it's the right thing to say because Ianto's head whips up and he stares at Jack, eyes narrowed, carefully watching. "Well, not right now. Tosh would need a bit of time to get a false identity in place and a passport organised, then there's flights and fake backgrounds, but we could do it in a few days, at a rush. Then you could go."

"Go where?"

"I don't want you within a hundred miles of London," Jack says firmly and Ianto nods, "but anywhere else is fine. Your choice. No retcon. You need to remember why you can't go to London, why you can't contact family and friends. But if you want to, you can start a new life, unleash that seductive accent on a whole new language."

Ianto watches him and gives a small, slight nod, like he's not even aware he's doing it. "Anywhere, huh?"

"I want you to stay in touch, though. You move around, change cities, let us know."

"Like parole? Check in with a case worker?"

"More like keeping a friend informed," Jack says amiably. "A friend who might get slapped over the wrist by UNIT if the guy who's technically in our custody disappears completely. As long as we know the city, we can tell them you're undercover and they can't do a thing about it."

"Say I'm undercover for Torchwood outside of Great Britain?" Ianto raises an eyebrow. It's an unnecessary gesture given the level of sarcasm in his tone. "I'm sure that would work."

"We could say it was--" Jack frowns, thinking. "A smuggling ring, smuggling alien artefacts into the country. We could say we tracked it back to wherever you are and we're waiting for more information."

"You could think of a cover story for anything, can't you?"

Jack grins widely. "It's a skill."

Jack waits. Not for a direct answer -- he doesn't expect one right now -- but he expects to hear rationalisations, reasoning. The trick is to listen to a man explain the situation to himself and read between the lines. It's enough to tell you what the final answer will be.

It takes a while, then Ianto shrugs and says, "You know, I thought about applying for a transfer after London fell."

"You didn't?"

"Nobody knew where Torchwood Four was. Torchwood Two is a hereditary position, more of a title than a working office, and you lot made it clear during clean-up that you wanted nothing more to do with the organisation as a whole. Transferring didn't seem... viable."

Those are all good reasons for not transferring but Jack's instincts say it's not the real reason Ianto didn't apply, so he waits in silence until Ianto adds, "Lisa wouldn't have..." Then he shrugs again.

"I thought she worked for Torchwood One?"

Ianto's mouth purses as he thinks. It's an expression Jack appreciates for purely shallow reasons. "After she saw what happened, after we had to help clean up, Lisa didn't want anything to do with Torchwood, with dangerous secrets and splinter groups. Besides, all her family's in London. She wouldn't have left."

There's a certain lack of remorse as Ianto says it and Jack wonders if they argued about this, if there were fights in the middle of the night, screaming across the bedroom. Or if Ianto simply held his peace, and compromised what he wanted for who he wanted.

Jack makes an effort to keep his voice light. "Consider this a transfer without the paperwork."

"There's always paperwork."

"Spoken like a true government employee."

Ianto smiles, shaking his head. "A true government employee would point out that there's always meetings and filing to be done too."

"We're pretty light on the meetings. As for the filing," Jack waves a hand, smiling his most charming smile, "it's a fairly idiosyncratic system."

Ianto buries his head in his hands but Jack can see from the curve of his cheek that he's smiling. "Filing is supposed to be methodical."

"I have a highly individualistic team. Everyone has their own methods."

Ianto looks up to stare balefully at him. "Meaning there's no overall record-keeping system in place, right? What if you need information and the person who filed it isn't around to remember where it was put? You need--" Ianto stops, mouth hanging open for a second before he closes it.

"What?"

"About the job," Ianto says, adding, "Do you need an answer now?"

"No." Jack shakes his head. He doesn't need to hear Ianto say it; he already knows what the answer is. He'd bet his pistol that deep down, Ianto's already making plans to sort out their filing and stay long enough that the others learn the system. (Knowing Jack's team, that means forever.) "Why don't you come work with us for a few weeks, maybe a little longer. Think of it as a trial period. Find out if you can stand Owen five days a week without wanting to, well, without actually killing him since I'm pretty sure everyone _wants_ to kill Owen at some point. If you decide you don't want to stay, we can make the arrangements then."

Ianto nods. He licks his lips, a quick swipe of red tongue that catches Jack's attention. "What about this?"

"What about what?" Jack asks.

"You and me. If I work for you, is shagging the boss part of the duty statement?"

"Would that be a deal-breaker?" Jack asks straight back.

He expects Ianto's answer to be coy, possibly a touch flirtatious, but Ianto says, "No," so quickly it makes Jack's breath catch.  



End file.
